Help, O Lord; the godly are failing. The faithful thin out among the sons of men. Everyone speaks empty words to his neighbour, Flattering lips and a heart divided in two. They say, With our tongue we will prevail; Our lips are our own, and who is lord over us? But flattering lips will be cut off, And the tongue that speaks proud things. The words of the Lord are pure words, Silver tried in a furnace of earth, Purified seven times over. His words are pure. For the oppression of the poor, For the sighing of the needy, The Lord has risen to set them in safety From the one who puffs at them. The words of the Lord are pure words. He will keep them, He will preserve them From this generation for ever, Though the vilest men are exalted. Silver seven times refined. His words are pure.